Portland, ME, 2014

There is a special place in my heart for photographers, even the assholes (and yes, I know sometimes I’m one of them).

The serious ones remind me of lyrics from a Willie Nelson song, “My heroes have always been cowboys, and they still are it seems. Always in search of, and one step in back of, themselves and their slow-moving dreams.” They spend too much on equipment to be sure they have the best gear, and suffer the weight of carrying it to difficult places. They then spend more to get to some long lusted for location, in the simple hope of catching one brief moment, special in its subtle difference from the moments just before and after.

They get up in the middle of the night and drive long distances in the dark, breakfasting on bad gas station coffee and Oreos, then stumble through rough terrain, just to be in the right spot for the magic hour of civil twilight before sunrise, and/or stay long past sunset for the soft, beautiful light of alpenglow, even when temperatures are freezing or blistering.

They hustle access to events to record athletes’ and performers’ efforts to put everything they have into being the best they can be, or risk life and limb to document human conflict. And most do it with no expectation of profit, just gratified when someone takes more than a cursory glance at the photographs they try to share. “Look what I saw. Isn’t it beautiful/thrilling/magic/tragic?”

They fabricate unique tools for a specialized picture and buy products made to protect their gear from hostile environments. They jump into zodiacs when they can’t swim, hang out of helicopters when they can’t fly. They are sometimes fearless, sometimes reckless, sometimes stupid, and sometimes it’s hard to know the difference.

No matter how gregarious they may be otherwise, seeking, seeing, and making the photograph is an internal journey, a solitary recusal from all other engagement, whether briefly or habitually. If they ever are fortunate to have a satori experience, where the light/location/subject/cosmos all collide perfectly with pressing the shutter button, they will forever seek to repeat it, slowly learning how elusive it can be.

I have been so lucky to have worked with and learned from so many of these mentors, colleagues, and students. “Your heroes will help you find good in yourself….” Randy Travis, “Heroes and Friends.”

For more of Bill’s photographs, go to https://www.billdurrence.com/index.